


Public-Viewing Cock Show

by absolutelyCancerous (cal1brations)



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Condoms, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:21:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cal1brations/pseuds/absolutelyCancerous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buying condoms is certainly no game, in the case of one desperate Soul-Eater.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Public-Viewing Cock Show

Aisle 11.

Also infamously known as “The Public-Viewing Cock Show” among the men whom have the balls to strut down its enclosing walls without shuffling away in fear at the last moment.

Soul grimaces, cocks his head back as he rounds the corner. With his head up, he can catch the sign that hangs above him—a bright circle with the large number “11” slapped right in the middle, just in case you weren’t positive on what aisle you were taking a trek down, as if the rows of KY jelly sitting silently (judgingly) on the shelves upon one’s first step _weren’t_ enough of a hint.

Hands stuffed deep into his pockets, deep enough to yank down his pants if her were to give a nice jerk of his fists, the scythe steps swiftly, apparently trying not to seem like an enthusiastic pervert on his merry way, but more akin to what he actually is: an awkward teenager who’s never been in the predicament of buying condoms in his life, nonetheless knowledge of what type, what size and what brand he should experiment with, first.

He’s only here (at a whopping 9:54 p.m.) because upon digging into his dresser drawer with a naked Maka more than willing and able, he discovered that, right, he’s never owned any of those things, how was he ever so stupid, Maka will definitely slaughter him when he turns around and holds up his hands in surrender to the You Are Not Getting Laid gods.

_“Just go get some! It’s still early, Soul!”_

Yeah, early enough for the cashier to stare at him blatantly as Soul stands in front of the rubber-coated wall, starting his first game in many of What Size Shall I Be Tonight?

Okay. He can do this. He can _so_ do this.

He picks up a familiar brand, Trojan. Familiar is always a good place to start, he thinks as he turns the box over in his hand—he’s not looking for special bonuses right now, just sizes, since that’s probably the most important thing about buying the damn things.

It says medium, which is usually where Soul starts when buying shirts of a brand he’s unfamiliar with. But these are condoms that are going on a very important part of his anatomy, and it’s a bit of a different ball game. Nonetheless, he reads more about the size, quickly losing hope that this might be a prideful experience, because there’s almost a table of numbers on the bottom left corner of the box and, although he is the proud owner of a cock, he doesn’t exactly know **that** much about it.

Soul briefly considers stepping into the bathroom to whip it out and take a better look, but he then wonders if the sizes reflect flaccid dicks or erect ones, and that thought makes him blanche uncomfortably as he sighs.

Relax. _He can do this_.

His phone buzzes angrily in his pocket. Soul tugs it out, grimacing nervously when he sees Maka’s name in headlines across the notification bar.

_Are you okay? It’s been 15 minutes._

Embarrassment must make time pass faster, Soul thinks to himself dryly as he punches in a quick text in response, just so she won’t worry about him. Worried Maka’s are not ones Soul has dreamed of banging to the point of illiteracy.

_Be back in 5_.

He _hopes_ this will only take five more minutes, anyway. Soul goes back to dissecting the numbers printed on the box.

He takes a “large” box, too, and looks at the back of that, just to compare the numbers there. They differ, obviously, but not exponentially, which is a tad bit surprising. He turns each over, to glance at the front, and cringes when one of them reads “snug fit”. Definitely not something he wants to be playing with, especially not tonight; he doesn’t have time to buy too-small condoms and figure out how the hell he can fuck with one on.

He sets both boxes back, deciding large is the best way to go, for both his dick and his dignity.

Okay, done. Now he just needs to pick which bonus he’d like. Or Maka would like. There are a lot of choices for him to pick from, it’s almost _dizzying_ to look at them all.

There’s “ribbed” and there’s ones with special lube on them, ones with flavors and ones that aren’t much of anything besides a sock for your cock. Soul decides that since he’s getting it tonight, and since he accidentally seemed to leave his mistress waiting for so long on this unexpected excursion, that he should get ones marked with “for her” where it mentions the little pick-me-up the piece of rubber (apparently) has to offer.

He picks probably the gayest-colored box out of all those that sit on their shelves, a bright lavender one with “Sensations” slapped across it in prissy script. Not the design Soul would have executed, but beggars certainly can’t be choosers. They’re lubed up, and that’s good, but he makes sure to snatch one of those sleek, shiny, KY boxes as he swiftly walks out of the isle, praying to the I’m A Cool Sum’Bitch gods that his face _isn’t_ red as all hell and his hands aren’t as sweaty as he thinks they feel; cool guys definitely don’t fret about buying shit like this, it’s just one of those things that needs to be done.

The cashier is (fuck him) a girl, loudly smacking a piece of gum in her mouth and playing with a strand of curly black hair as he steps up and places his burden of a prize before her. She eyes the items, then Soul, then the items once more, before she moves up from leaning on the counter and _actually does her job_ , scanning the stupid things like she’s got all the time in the goddamn world. The store is actually pretty much empty, aside from her and Soul, and that makes him relax. Only a bit, though.

“That’s gonna be thirty-five eighty.”

Soul fishes out the money from his wallet.

“Your girl must _love_ you, huh?” Her voice drips of sarcasm; she’s making _fun_ of him.

His face is probably not as red as it feels. He hopes it’s not. Swallowing thickly, he finds the correct amount of cash—his golden ticket out of this shit convenience store and the cashiers’ judgmental scrutiny!—and places it on the counter with a large grin.

“They don’t call me “Eater” for nothing, ma’am.”

She pauses in putting the money away, stunned. Soul, however, licks the pad of his thumb, reaching over the counter (uncomfortably near her crotch) and snatches a bag from the rack in front of her, grinning a casual, shit-eating grin as he bags his own items and takes his leave, uncaring of the change that clatters against the counter and the floor of where she dropped it, trying to hand it to him.

He can definitely handle condoms.

The actual deed said condoms play a key role in is a different story _entirely_.


End file.
